You Oughta Know
by Copycat
Summary: Just a little experiment... History has a tendency to repeat itself. There's just no promise about the role you get to appear in.


TITLE: You Oughta Know  
AUTHOR: Copycat  
E-MAIL: copycat@cliffhanger.com  
RATING: PG-13 - a few bad words.  
CLASSIFICATION: V A R  
SPOILERS: Nothing specific  
SUMMARY: History has a tendency to repeat itself.   
There's just no promise about the role you get to   
appear in.  
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine I'd be off somewhere   
sunny sipping Pina Coladas.  
  
NOTE: This is just an experiment. All comments   
appreciated. No permanent harm done, I hope. (No   
pun intended.)  
  
Okay, Cassie, I changed my mind and rewrote the   
beginning. Hope you don't mind. :)  
  
Thank you to Sagadog: A million minus two, is it?   
Well, what can I say? "Purple rain?" LOL  
  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
It was a slap in the face   
How quickly I was replaced  
Are you thinking of me when you--  
- Alanis Morissette  
  
~^~^~^~  
  
I don't even know what I'm doing here. Here being   
either literally this particular cab or more   
metaphorically in this situation, at your liking.  
  
I came because I heard he was getting married.  
  
We had all gone to the bar--our usual after hours   
haunt--last Friday to celebrate some Tom, Dick and   
Harry's birthday. I recognized him as 'someone who   
works in the office', but I've never actually had a   
conversation with the man. Not that that night   
changed things.  
  
Some people were well beyond tipsy and I was trying   
to forget the fact that I might have to face them   
in court and take them seriously in the near future   
when Teddy Jones sat down next to me.  
  
I don't like Jones, I never have, and I suspect the   
feeling is mutual. "Did ya hear that old partner of   
yours is tying the knot?" He asked me.   
  
I looked at him, convinced that, despite his short   
time at the office, he knew exactly what he was   
telling me. "Poor guy," I mumbled and raised my   
glass of mineral water.  
  
I wasn't about to let him in on my thoughts on the   
matter. Which isn't to say that I didn't *have*   
any. My initial reaction was shock. Perfectly   
concealed shock, if the disappointment on Jones'   
face is any indication, but shock nonetheless. I'd   
never imagined that he'd do something like that.   
  
But then I told myself, hearing a very distinct   
drill sergeant tone of voice in my head, that it   
was none of my business. I didn't have the right to   
care after I left him for something that seemed   
batter at the time.  
  
That better turned out to suck isn't his fault and   
I can't really blame him for being gone by the time   
I realized it, either.   
  
But I was never plagued by a great respect for   
authorities, so curiosity won in the end and here I   
am.   
  
It's been over a year since I last saw him, and I   
have no idea what to say. "Hey, heard you were   
getting married. I hope she's not the average   
bimbo."  
  
But he would never marry a bimbo. Date, sure, but   
marry? No, for marriage he'd find the perfect   
little housewife. Someone to come home to and have   
his babies and all that.  
  
All those things he thought I wouldn't want to do.  
  
Thought.  
  
As the taxi pulls to a stop in front of his   
building I get out and pay the driver.   
  
Looking up at the building trying to identify his   
windows I once again ask myself what the hell I'm   
doing. What am I trying to accomplish? Stop him?   
It's hardly my prerogative.   
  
The chant I've been hearing since I booked my plane   
ticket begins again as I walk up the stairs to the   
appropriate floor: "This is a mistake. This is a   
mistake."   
  
Like I don't know that.   
  
What if she's there? The thought hits me out of   
nowhere. What would I say? "Hi, I'm an old friend   
of your fiancee's. We were partners once. Worked   
together for almost six years before I left him for   
someone else. Oh, and, by the way, I think I might   
want him back now. If you don't mind."  
  
Nah.  
  
I knock on his door, torn between hoping he'll open   
and hoping he won't. If he doesn't I can tell   
myself I tried and the others that I didn't see   
him. But I won't be any the wiser.  
  
Before I can decide on a lesser evil the door opens   
and there he is. He hasn't changed much, but I   
think that dumbfound expression is new. "Hi," I   
smile.  
  
"What are you doing here?" There's no blame in his   
voice, only wonder.  
  
"Well, I heard you were getting married and I   
thought I'd bring my condolences to the lady."   
Humor always used to work so well for us. Even the   
bad kind.  
  
"Hold on, I'll get you her address," he shoots   
back, and I sigh with relief. "Come on in."  
  
I step in and look around. "Nice place. Not that it   
meets the standards of the loft," I comment,   
referring to his old place. Back home.  
  
He shrugs. "I won't be staying here for long. It   
was just a temporary solution."  
  
He goes to the kitchen and gets two bottles of   
water from the fridge. As he hands one to me I   
quirk an eyebrow in question and he smiles. "She   
doesn't drink, either."  
  
He gestures towards the couch and I sit down   
expecting him to follow, but he stays by the   
kitchen door.   
  
"So, they posted it on the bulletin board after   
all, did they?" His voice is serious. Semi business   
mode.  
  
"No, I heard it through the grapevine," I reply   
feeling no great urge to tell him about the   
numerous arguments I had with some of the others   
because they hadn't 'felt it was their place to   
tell me'. Like HE was gonna.  
  
He nods, seeming unsure what to say.  
  
"So--what's the lady like?" I ask, trying to sound   
like I'm still joking and don't really care about   
his answer.  
  
He smiles, sort of dreamily. "Oh, she's great.   
She's a marine," he starts out and I nearly choke   
on my mineral water. This is not what I expected to   
hear.  
  
He smiles at my reaction and shakes his head.   
"Don't say it, the admiral already has."  
  
I wonder what the admiral's said, exactly, but   
sidestep it. "You spoke to the admiral?"  
  
"Yeah, he rang me last month, asking if I'd decided   
to come crawling back yet."  
  
"You do have a habit of doing that," I tease.  
  
"Once is not a habit," he insists, half-smiling.  
  
"And it's not like he was begging you, exactly, the   
last time."  
  
"True," he admits, smiling at the memory.   
  
No one holds a grudge like an admiral; we both   
learned that the hard way.  
  
"Where's she at?" I ask, looking around the room,   
as if she might've been hiding behind the curtains   
or something.  
  
"Out of town, on a case."  
  
"We call 'em missions," I correct him   
automatically.  
  
"She's with JAG," he explains, rolling his eyes at   
me.  
  
I nod, starting to get an idea about what the   
admiral might've hinted at. He's marrying a marine   
lawyer.   
  
"So that's why you reserved your commission?" I'd   
never thought he'd do anything like that. Leave the   
Navy.   
  
"I couldn't stay on forever here, and she didn't   
want to leave. Civilian law isn't so bad, anyway.   
The money's better." He smiles. "But you already   
know that, right?"  
  
I screw up my eyes and throw him a mock glare.   
"Funny."   
  
"Mind if I grab a beer?" he asks after a while.  
  
"When did I ever?" I retort. I'm not used to people   
asking me this anymore--he was the only one who   
ever did. The one thing he always respected in me   
was my alcoholism.  
  
He disappears into the kitchen for a bit, and when   
he returns he comes to sit down next to me, setting   
his bottle on the coffee table after taking a swig.   
  
"So, are you here to give me a list of the 'dos and   
don'ts' of married life?"   
  
I shudder slightly for effect. "Hardly." Waving my   
ring-less hands in front of him I smile lopsidedly.   
"I mostly did the don'ts. You wouldn't want my   
advice."  
  
His eyes widen in surprise. "You got divorced?   
When?"  
  
I lean back and look out the window. "A few months   
ago. We both agreed it wasn't working."   
  
"But--what happened?"  
  
I hadn't expected him to be this surprised. It   
never occurred to me that he wouldn't know already.   
Scuttlebutt travels fast, after all. Even across   
oceans, what with modern technology and old   
fashioned gossips and all. "It just wasn't what any   
of us expected. Not that I was ever clear on what I   
expected, really," I mutter.  
  
"I don't think ANYONE was clear on what you   
expected, luv," he mocks.  
  
"Not even him?"  
  
"Least of all him." There's very little of the old   
disgust in his voice at the reference, and this   
worries me as much as it pleases me. Is it that he   
doesn't feel threatened or that he doesn't care?  
  
"Who died and made you an expert, anyway?" I   
mutter.   
  
He refrains from answering with anything beyond a   
shrug.  
  
"Takes one to know one?"   
  
"One what?" He swallows another mouthful of beer   
and stares down his bottle.  
  
"One ignorant fool?"   
  
He looks up at me with sudden seriousness. "I don't   
know. That depends why you left him."  
  
"Why does it matter why I left him?"  
  
"I'm not sure that it does, really. I just   
wondered." Emptying his bottle he sets it down on   
the table and leans back in the couch.  
  
"Maybe I found out he wasn't what I wanted after   
all." I look at him, trying to gauge his reaction.  
  
He freezes for just an instant, but his response is   
totally void of emotion. "Maybe you should've   
thought about that before you married him."  
  
There are certain topics we just don't touch on, by   
silent agreement--but his words anger me, making me   
forget to censure my response. "Well, I DID think   
about it. But there was no knight in shining armor   
to save me, so what the hell was I supposed to do?"  
  
"Take care of yourself? I've been told often enough   
that marines can do that, y'know. And how was   
anyone to know you WANTED to be saved with the way   
you were carrying on?"  
  
"Everybody knew. They were just too chicken shit to   
say it."  
  
He sighs loudly. "Well, I take it your knight came   
along after all?"  
  
"No. I figured he wasn't gonna and 'took care of   
myself'," I sneer.   
  
"Probably a wise decision, all things considered."  
  
"Why did I come here?" I ask myself out loud, only   
realizing when he answers that I said it out loud.  
  
"Beats me."  
  
I never liked to admit that there were things other   
people were better at than I was, but when it comes   
to knee-jerk meanness I accept second place without   
a frown.   
  
"Oh, yes, that's right. I came to save that poor   
female you've suckered into marrying you," I spit   
out, not all in jest.  
  
It struck me once, when we were arguing, that he   
would make the perfect movie-villain. He has that   
pure evil psychopath sort of look about him when   
he's angry. Possibly, he'd be the bad guy in   
something where Dolph Lundgren was the hero.   
  
But right now he looks like a little boy whose mom   
told him he couldn't have any cookies for a week   
and he could just forget about TV.  
  
"You don't need to. Others have that covered," he   
says slowly.  
  
"What, they don't think you're good enough for   
her?" I joke.  
  
He looks at me. "It's not that I'm not good enough   
for her..." he trails off, and I guess the ending   
myself.  
  
"...It's just that there's someone else they think   
is better."  
  
He nods sadly, then smiles. "It's ironic, isn't it?   
The hunter becomes the hunted."  
  
I smile back. This is pretty much an admission of   
what he used to be. The hunter.  
  
"Why did you leave him?" he asks again, and I can   
see now why it matters.  
  
I hesitate for a moment, choosing my words   
carefully. "I guess I got tired of fighting   
everybody. You weren't the only one who resented   
him, y'know," I add. "But mostly--mostly I got   
tired of fighting myself."  
  
"You resented him?" He asks in surprise.  
  
"In the end I did. But I meant that--I got tired of   
trying to make myself feel something I didn't. And   
trying to keep myself from feeling what I really   
do."  
  
"So, basically, you didn't love him?"  
  
"Basically, not enough. To some extend I must have.   
I'd hate to think that I married him out of spite."  
  
"I preferred that reason, most of the time," he   
says. "But I guess none of that matters anymore."  
  
"Why not? Because you changed your mind about my   
desired motives?"  
  
"No. Because you did."  
  
I shrug. "Yeah, well, I showed you mine, now you   
show me yours."  
  
He grins, suddenly looking like the friend I used   
to know. "Is that a challenge?"  
  
I roll my eyes, in the same way I used to do when   
he said dumb things like that.  
  
"History has a tendency to repeat itself," he   
begins. "There's just no promise about the role you   
get to appear in."  
  
"Well, ain't THAT the truth," I mumble, despite my   
lack of personal experience in the area.  
  
"Half of me hopes he'll be as stupid as I was, and   
the other half can't help but hope that for his own   
sake he's smarter."   
  
There's a little tingle of hope in the pit of my   
stomach that I don't have the time to analyze as I   
tell myself to focus on HIS problems. Just for a   
bit. "That's very big of you."  
  
"Not really, no. I just don't want her to end up   
like you did."  
  
"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically.  
  
"Come on, you know what I mean," he insists. "I   
don't want her to marry a man she doesn't love--  
enough--" he adds, "and be miserable. She would be   
miserable, wouldn't she?" It's not so much a   
question as it is a statement.  
  
"I was."  
  
"There you go."  
  
"But--do YOU think that this other guy is better   
for her?"  
  
"What I think doesn't matter," he says, agitatedly.   
"I'm the villain here."  
  
I smile at his words, mirroring my thoughts of   
before. "You do play the part so well," I tease,   
"but who says you are?"  
  
"History."  
  
"That's a crock. History's what we make it. Didn't   
your teacher ever tell you that?"  
  
"No. My teacher told me that history repeats   
itself," he insists. "But--he also said that it was   
up to us to change it."  
  
I grin. "Which means that YOU make it."  
  
He shakes his head and smiles. "You should be a   
lawyer," he comments.   
  
"Yeah? I thought about that myself, too, actually."  
  
"Noo?" He feigns surprise.  
  
"Yup." I look at him for a while, trying to decide   
on an approach. "But if you're the villain and you   
know you're gonna get kicked out of Wonderland what   
are you still doing here?"  
  
He runs a hand through his hair and looks up.   
"Weren't you the one who called me stubborn-ass   
stupid, once?"  
  
"I was, yeah," I agree. "So you're holding her to   
her promise 'cos you're too stubborn to let her   
go?"  
  
He shrugs. "It sounds so vile when you say it like   
that."  
  
I snort in response. "Why?"  
  
"Why does it sound vile? I dunno. It was the way   
you said it," he jokes.   
  
"Come on."  
  
"Maybe because I lost once already and I don't   
wanna leave the game empty-handed again," he   
mumbles.  
  
I wonder if this is the time to be pompous and tell   
him that what was once lost is not lost forever?  
  
"So, are you absolutely determined or are you   
secretly hoping this other bloke'll decide for   
you?" I ask.  
  
"I don't know WHAT I'm hoping, right now. All I   
know is she's in Atlanta on a case and so is he and   
I haven't heard from her for two days."  
  
"And it's driving you crazy, thinking about what   
they're doing," I conclude.  
  
"Not really, no. Not at the moment anyway." He   
shakes his head. "It should be, shouldn't it?"  
  
I go into full Doctor Ruth mode. "That depends if   
you're the jealous type."  
  
He laughs sardonically. "We established that a long   
time ago, didn't we?"  
  
His meaning is fairly clear and the question   
escapes my lips before I think the thought. "You   
were jealous?"  
  
"I proposed on your wedding day," he says by way of   
an answer. "She's great and I love her. But I only   
ever made a move because you'd left. I wouldn't   
even have BEEN here if you hadn't gone."  
  
I bite my lip feeling more than a little guilty.   
God knows how many people's lives have gotten   
messed up because I married the wrong guy. "Chain   
of events is a terrific concept, isn't it?"  
  
"HORrific," he says, dryly.  
  
"Po-tei-to, po-tah-to," I joke, grinning.  
  
He rolls his eyes. "I don't find that funny. Does   
that mean I've been gone too long?"  
  
"No. It means it was either a bad joke or you   
haven't been gone long enough."  
  
He nods seriously. "It must've been a bad joke,   
then."  
  
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"   
  
"What do you mean?" He asks, seemingly confused.  
  
"Well, you're obviously unhappy," I explain. "Why   
are you doing something that makes you unhappy?"  
  
"I'm NOT unhappy," he insists. "Most of the time   
I'm pretty damn pleased with my life, actually."  
  
"You don't look too happy," I remark.  
  
"I never said I was happy, I said I was pleased.   
Think about it: I could be off somewhere all alone,   
and have nobody."  
  
"Being alone is better than being with the wrong   
person."  
  
"Spoken like a true expert."  
  
I shrug. "And I learned from experience and now I'm   
alone."  
  
"And you're perfectly happy that way?" He asks   
skeptically.  
  
"Not happy maybe," I admit. "But better off."  
  
"Better off," he mumbles and leans back, shaking   
his head slightly.   
  
I sit for a while, waiting for him to give me the   
opinion he obviously has on this.  
  
"Why did you come here?" He asks me at last.  
  
I look at him, biting my lip nervously. "I don't   
know."  
  
"Y' don't?"  
  
"Would you invite to the wedding?"  
  
"Would you come?"  
  
"You didn't come to mine."  
  
"No, I was off trying to persuade another woman to   
marry me against her better judgment," he jests.  
  
"I don't suppose I would, no," I say honestly.   
"Come to your wedding, that is."  
  
"That's good," he mumbles.  
  
"What's that?" I look at him and frown.  
  
He turns around in his seat so that he's facing me.   
"I'm just not sure I'd want you to be there."  
  
"Gee, thanks a million, mate," I sneer.  
  
He grins mirthlessly. "I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"Then what *did* you mean?" I challenge.  
  
"Just that--" he shakes his head. "Never mind."  
  
I lean in closer. "Come on," I insist.  
  
He rests his arm on the back of the couch and rests   
his head on his hand. "It's just that--if you were   
there--I'm not sure I would... Y'know what, it   
doesn't really matter."  
  
I bite my lip to keep from screaming in   
frustration. "It matters to me."  
  
His eyes widen slightly. "It does?"  
  
I nod slowly.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because--Maybe I'd like to know if it was that you   
just *didn't* want me around or it was that you   
*do*."  
  
"I do. Too much, I'm afraid," he admits.  
  
"Too much for what?"  
  
He smiles. "Too much for saying 'I do' to someone   
else."  
  
"That's quite a lot," I mumble and go slightly   
cross-eyed as I try to maintain eye contact as he   
leans closer.  
  
"It is, yeah," he agrees, still coming closer. "The   
million dollar question is just--*is* it really too   
much?"  
  
"It's not too much for me," I insist, our noses   
nearly touching.  
  
"Well, then it's not too much for me, either." Just   
as his lips touch mine he adds. "So, *this* is why   
you really came here, huh?"  
  
I grin, my lips moving against his. "No, actually I   
came here to sweep you off your feet and persuade   
you not to marry this other woman because you   
really love me instead."  
  
"I would say 'mission accomplished', then," he   
whispers and presses his lips against me.  
  
I close my eyes and lose myself in the feeling of   
finally having his lips against mine, realizing   
that he's right, this is *exactly* what I came here   
for.  
  
I hear, but don't really register, the sound of the   
door opening, and suddenly the sound of a woman's   
voice fills the room. "Oh my *God*! *What* are you   
doing, Mic?"  
  
My eyes open slowly as I feel him pull away.   
  
"Sarah? What are you doing home already?"  
  
"Yes, obviously you didn't expect *that*," she   
sneers angrily.  
  
I cough discreetly to hide my amusement and turn   
around when I feel I have it under control, feeling   
rather like a character on a bad soap opera that   
should've been cancelled years ago.   
  
Well, she's pretty, alright, if not for the sour   
expression, but I always knew she would be.   
  
"Sarah, this is--this is Anna. She used to be my   
partner," Mic attempts an explanation.  
  
"*Used* to be. Yes, I can see that."  
  
"Maybe I should leave, now," I suggest and start to   
get up, but Mic's hand on my shoulder holds me   
down.  
  
"I don't think that'll be necessary," he tells me.   
"Sarah--" I hear him sigh in resignation.  
  
"Mic," she sighs mockingly.  
  
I can't see his face but I *know* he's smiling. We   
used to have a blast making fun of people in this   
exact situation. "While you've been away I've been   
doing some thinking," he begins and I cough again,   
loudly this time.  
  
His hand squeezes my shoulder in silent   
understanding of my train of thought. "Maybe you   
and I aren't the perfect couple..." he pauses and I   
look back at him briefly, rolling my eyes.  
  
She shakes her head. "No," she sighs. "I just   
always thought--" she bites her lip thoughtfully.  
  
"--That you'd being the one saying it," he finishes   
for her.  
  
She nods. "Yeah."  
  
"Well, you just never seemed to get around to doing   
it, so--" Mic attempts humor.  
  
She waves him off. "How long?" She asks, looking at   
me and then back at him.  
  
"Anna just came here tonight."  
  
"Really?" She says in disbelief.  
  
"Really," I concede. "Y'see, I just got divorced a   
few months ago after realizing I'd married the   
wrong bloke--" Mic's thumb bores into my shoulder   
and I stop.  
  
"And now you're here to keep him from making the   
same mistake," she says sarcastically. "How sweet   
of you."  
  
"No, actually, I just came for a shoulder to cry   
on," I say, equally sarcastic.   
  
"Anna," Mic admonishes from behind me.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry, Mic," I say, turning around to   
look at him. "But this is a joke. You *told* me she   
doesn't want to marry you and now she's pissed off   
because you don't want her, either. Or *do* you--"  
  
"No," he cuts me off, forcefully. "Sarah, luv,   
think about it. Why did you spend ten months   
wearing my ring on the wrong hand if it weren't   
that you were just waiting for Rabb to--" He stops   
himself. "Look, I've seen this before. I watched   
Anna do what you're doing, and no one stopped her.   
So now I'm stopping you before I end up being the   
ass her ex-husband is."   
  
I bite down my protest and wait for her to see the   
actual wisdom of his words.  
  
She nods slowly. "But did you have to do a *show*   
and tell?"  
  
He grins. "You know me, Sarah, I'm not one to do   
things by halves. You've got the ring to prove it."  
  
She shakes her head at him and smiles. "Not   
anymore, I don't." She slides the ring off her   
finger and lets it drop on the coffee table.   
"Goodbye, Mic, and--I guess--thank you?"  
  
He grins. "You're welcome, luv. Tell Rabb I said   
'hi'."  
  
She doesn't say anything, just nods her farewell to   
both of us and leaves.  
  
When the door clicks shut I turn around and look at   
him. "She's quite pretty, in an American model-ish   
sort of way," I mock-channel 'Sliding Doors'.  
  
He rolls his eyes but nods. "It's a terrible   
waste," he agrees as he pulls me closer.  
  
"Waste?"  
  
He nods again and runs a hand through my hair.   
"Yeah, so much beauty wasted on a guy who doesn't   
really appreciate her."  
  
I crawl into his lap and snake my arms around his   
neck. "He'll learn his lesson in time, don't you   
think?"  
  
"I learned mine," he assures and nibbles my ear.  
  
"Well, that's all I really need for now. The rest   
of the world can sort out their own problems," I   
murmur before catching his lips with mine.  
  
  
THE END  
  
Does this work at all?  



End file.
